


A Brief Memoir

by John_Q_Sample



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991)
Genre: Ex-Spouse of Quackerjack Toys CEO Tells All!, F/M, Fascinating!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 07:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Q_Sample/pseuds/John_Q_Sample
Summary: I struggle to read long passages on screens and often mix up words or outright read the wrong ones. When I saw a long description of Claire from the BOOM! Studio comics, I incredibly misunderstood it as Quackerjack's spouse from before the bankruptcy incident who was being interrogated for the sake of an investigation probably.This has nothing to do with Claire and everything to do with that misunderstanding.Sorry, Claire. You're actually very cool.





	A Brief Memoir

Whenever I see that deranged jester on the news, I still see Jackson Quack, and it hurts me to see that.

He's so different, but there are so many things about him that have stayed the same. He always liked toys, you know; that much was obvious. Same face, same buck-teeth, and the same  _laugh_ which I just can't  _stand_ nowadays.

We were close, kind of an "official" couple. We lived in the same apartment complex and had been dating for almost a year before the bankruptcy incident. I had spent a lot of time in his apartment. It was a nice place, albeit a little small. And of course, it was absolutely packed with toys. Looking back on it, I think it  _could_ have been creepy were it anyone else. What can I say, though? I have an affinity for stuffed animals, so I can't really judge him.

Before things got bad...He was a good guy. Seriously. He was zany and funny and could always light up a room with his jokes, most of which he hadn't even intended on making. It was always charming watching him realizing when he had just made a pun...It's really hard to believe how badly things went.

I didn't ever tell him, but I knew Quackerjack Toys wasn't doing so well. In addition to it being a pretty common discussion on the news, I was forced to see the failure myself, through the eyes of Jackson. His company meant everything to him. He was so  _good_ at making toys and coming up with such fantastic, creative ideas. But it wasn't enough for the company.

Even before everything went bankrupt, he was doing horribly. The stress was practically killing him. Jackson would come home in increasingly worse mental conditions. I thought it was something I could handle, but I'm not a therapist, nor have I ever been. I make sandwiches, for Christ's sake. I don't know how to deal with all these wishy-washy emotions.

I still did everything I could. I cared about him and wanted him to get better and stop stressing so much. He didn't take up my offer to see a therapist about his stress, either. The only thing stopping me from dragging him to the doctor myself was the knowledge that that would only worsen things.

When it got worse, I started joining in on some of his work. It was never toymaking; that was a coveted activity he always did alone. Sure, occasionally, he'd run ideas by me. Or rather burst into my room in the middle of the night shouting something like, "Pie-face jack-in-the-box!" before collapsing onto the couch.

Instead, I would come with him to meetings and whatnot, whenever it wouldn't conflict with my schedule. I was able to translate his indiscernible mumbles to the rest of the crowd when he'd be unable to communicate properly. I also remember, distinctly, that he'd always grab my hand under the desk whenever he was stressed out.

The last meeting I followed him to was one with his accountants. They were stating, incredibly bluntly, what we had all expected to come: Quackerjack Toys was going down the toilet. We were losing thousands on this. The only way to save his hide was to declare for bankruptcy.

I remember briefly losing feeling in my hand from his tight grip.

That was a bad day for all of us. I drove him home and tried to cook dinner. I remember him laughing that same damned goofy laugh I see whenever I tune in to the news on a day when Quackerjack is pulling some new heist. Then he broke out into sobs, and I started crying too.

I think a lot of people think he went home from work one day and became a criminal next. It would have been less painful if that's what happened.

But I had found him a job at a local toy store. I had to talk him into it, saying it was good for him to get back on his fet with something I knew he'd enjoy.

I was wrong, of course. Turns out, toy stores are the  _worst_ place to go after a toy company bankruptcy, especially when no one recognizes that you're the ex-CEO of Quackerjack Toys and gossips about it right to your face.

Which happened.

Several times.

I heard him ranting about it.

It's also where he was forced to witness the rise of one of his biggest competitors, WhiffleBoy, a still-popular video game company. Who knew how many video games were sold at toy stores? I'd say it was disgraceful, but I think I may be biased.

Then he got fired, and at that point, he was beyond help except perhaps from an actual mental hospital.

I hadn't heard about it immediately. I was returning from work when I decided to make my usual visit to his apartment. At that point, I had a spare key and was used to using it, so when he didn't answer the door, I thought he was just in the bathroom or something.

 _No_. I walked into his room and found the usual mess of plans for toys and whatnot, only they had all been scribbled over or ripped up. This was a red flag since I distinctly remember him saying he had planned to preserve them just in case he got back into the toy business.

And then there was the whole Quackerjack thing.

I think he picked the jester for the logo because it was fun. I thought it was cute, and being a clown fan, I had always liked it.

But it really puts a damper on things seeing your (now ex-)boyfriend running around in a jester costume - his very own mascot, even! - and rather loudly plotting a violent revenge against WhiffleBoy.

And I mean  _violent_.

It scared me so much that I just left. I'm not sure whether he even knew I was there, or if he was just so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice. I'd prefer the latter as I think it would hurt him less.

I spent the rest of the evening hiding in my apartment. He never once visited, and I was beginning to feel guilty and wondering if I should go and check on him.

Then I happened to switch on the news and found that a WhiffleBoy warehouse had been bombed.

It doesn't take a detective to make the obvious conclusion here. Especially when the guards at the factory reported being attacked by a giant robotic gorilla with cymbals.

So I didn't go after him after that. I don't think I should have, though. It's way past just "out of my hands" now. I just packed up and moved out of that horrible little apartment and started up the little deli I own now.

I always keep the TV in the corner on the news. With the wide range of crimes that plague St. Canard, it gets a little grisly at times, but I'd rather deal with a few disturbed customers than to not be in the know. It's the only thing keeping me from a nervous breakdown at that point - even if the things I see are enough to send me into a panic sometimes...


End file.
